


We Don't Believe What's On TV

by katoxym



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gender-neutral Reader, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katoxym/pseuds/katoxym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps you should get to know the robot down the hall before you start making assumptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The robot down the hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had like 10 people proofread this beforehand and I'm still so worried about putting this online... Ahhhh...

You can hear the shouting, but then again, you’re almost certain that anybody within a mile’s radius can, too. There are too many people outside. The streets are too crowded. By this point, your windows are shut and your curtains are closed, trying to distance yourself from the noise.

Instead, you sit down, swinging your legs and flicking through various channels on TV in an attempt to take your mind off it. You know you should go and investigate the screeching from outside your house; your area is usually quiet and this amount of noise is a good indicator that something is wrong. And yet if something is happening out there, you would have heard about it by now: something on the news, a trend on social media, perhaps a distressed call from your parents. Nobody is saying anything about it worth your concern, though. You choose to ignore it. It probably isn’t important anyway.

But it isn’t stopping. It should be stopping. On any normal occasion, it would have gone quiet by now. Only- this isn’t a normal occasion. You’re sure nobody’s hurt; this isn’t the kind of day where people would stand in hushed silence, mourning the loss of someone. This is the type of chaos you’d witness at a football stadium- perhaps a concert for someone with a mentally unstable fanbase. When the screaming gets louder, you’re close to going insane.

So, as an irritated last resort, you cave in to the small part of you that you want to cut out and burn to the ground: that sick voice telling you to go out and see what all the fuss is about. You begin to walk towards the window, reluctantly opening it until the cool air hits your face and your eardrums feel like giving in to the intense yelling from the hundreds of people outside.

As you were expecting, the sidewalks- even the roads- are brimming with people, all of which are pushing and shoving like savage animals, and a few bright flashes on the other side of the street catch you off guard. Everyone is facing your building. You think someone has hurt themselves. But as you poke your head out the window to look outside, you see some movement from outside the front and the theory vanishes as quickly as it came.

You aren’t sure what’s happening, at first. Dazed, you can barely even make out the words that are being chanted while people clap and whoop. Large crowds and loud noises aren’t exactly your thing. Wondering why you’re still standing there, you notice how your hands are already going blue with cold, that the feelings in your fingers were long since lost to the wind.

You go to shut the window you catch a glimpse of something bright pink: too pink. A person.

You freeze.

Even from your overhead view, you can tell he’s taller than the crowd with his back perfectly straight and a sickeningly pink sweater draped over his form that- in your opinion- is way too big for any practical use. He’s answering questions, by the looks of things, and the way he handles the situation seems so natural. It’s almost as if he belongs there.

But he doesn’t belong here- not that you’re aware of, at least. Do you want him to be here? No. Not someone like him. Not anywhere near you.

You know better than to shout, but you swear for a second your gaze meets his and al you want to do is curl up and die. Why did _he_ have to be here? He’s rich, famous, _and you don’t want him anywhere near you_.

You don’t have much of a grudge against him, in all honesty, but after seeing his face plastered on pretty much everything it’s impossible to deny he’s extremely over-commercialized to the point in which people are viewing him as an object. You don’t even need to turn on the radio to know that his songs are always going to be playing, or go onto iTunes to know that he’s been wasting that Number 1 spot for the last couple of months.

You shouldn’t have to put up with him. Quite frankly, you _don’t_ want to put up with him. What you _want_ to do, however, is shove every screaming fan, every member of the press as far away from here as possible.

After all, you don’t get what’s so great about him. At the end of the day, he’s just a computer. He sings overrated songs, has more TV shows than you’ve had relationships, and the only thing that differentiates him from other pop stars is that his life can’t be ruined by scandalous articles because he _doesn’t have a life in the first place_. Besides, talent is practically coded into him. It can’t be that much of an achievement. Maybe you’ll just stick to Hatsune Miku for the time being.

But no. It’s _him_.

And he’s right there on your street. Because of course he fucking is.

 

* * *

 

 

It took about an hour, but the screaming died down eventually. Even Mettaton himself must have been getting annoyed, and for once, you can’t blame him.

To be honest, you’re just glad that it’s quiet. You don’t have to worry about the rampaging fans that hung out on the street, as they’d eventually disappeared and gone back home after he’d signed some of their stuff and agreed to a couple selfies.

Sitting with your head in your hands, you decide to pull out that one book that you keep on reading over and over again. By now, the pages are dog eared and the cover is scratched, but hey, it is still readable. After all, it’s a good book, and you can’t fault it for that.

There’s a knock on the door, and you don’t want to get up. You know you have to either way, so you close the book, making your way to the door with a slight feeling of dread as you do so. You’ve had enough for the day. You’d rather not deal with any more intrusions.

You thrust the door open. “What do you wa-“

Nope.

As soon as you open the door, you have to look up at the metallic figure in front of you. You curse internally, forcing a sickeningly sweet smile. Acting may come naturally to him, but to you it certainly doesn’t. He can probably see straight through your puny attempt at a smile, but unfortunately for you, it’s already too late to run and hide.

He’s wearing a different shirt to the jumper you saw him in earlier. It’s grey with long sleeves and a 4 by 4 yellow and red grid on the front with what looks like a row of buttons and dials underneath. For some reason, it looks really familiar, only you can’t quite put your finger on it. He’s wearing pink jeans, too. They look so tight, you wonder how he can even walk in them.

“Hello, _darling_ ~” he says with a smile that makes you want to rip his wires out one by one.

For a second, you wonder if his fans would attack you if you were to insult him. You have this sudden urge to say something witty, perhaps offend him if you’re lucky, but you don’t want to find out what would happen if you were to get on his bad side. In fact, you’re at a loss for words, and that, _for your sake_ , is almost a good thing.

You can barely even choke out a reply. “ _Hello_.”

But today is not your lucky day. He can see right through you.

“ _My, my_ ,” he starts with a smirk, “ _Someone’_ s not too happy to see me. And why is that?”

You drop the façade. “Well, let’s see,” you begin, “I was panicking this morning when I heard the screaming coming from outside, and when it wouldn’t stop, I was absolutely thrilled to find it was coming from the robot that is now standing in front of me.”

“Nice to meet you, too, _darling._ ”

You snort. “Oh _believe me_ , the feeling’s mutual.” You pause for a second. No. You know what? Perhaps you’ll try and be nice to him. You really don’t want to get on his bad side. “But I guess I just enjoy being quiet, really. Crowds aren’t my thing. It just startled me, and I was worried, is all.”

His smirk turns into a smile when he thinks you’ve calmed down, and you notice how his canines are sharp- almost like fangs. “Glad to hear everything’s alright, sweetheart,” he replies. The fact that he’s actually being polite to you makes you feel bad for hating him earlier. “I just wanted to say that I’ll be moving into the room down the hall for the time being.”

Oh fuck. “You will?”

He chuckles. “Why else did you think I was outside?” You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you like you’re a child when he could have been doing _fuck_ _all_ out there.

“I hate to break it to you, but not everybody stands outside with a huge crowd when they’re moving in. You might have been playing an extremely elaborate game of football, for all I know,” you joke, “But don’t you have a resort or something?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Then why are you _here_ of all places?”

You’re not an idiot. You know that the area around your house isn’t always the nicest, and you know can certainly do better than your small apartment complex when it comes to accommodation. The only real reason you live here is because it’s cheap, and someone like him surely has enough money to spend on an actually decent place.

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. Instead, he just smirks. Lifting a gloved finger, he waves it at you in an over-exaggerated fashion as if he were telling off a child, “I’m afraid that would be telling. _”_

You tilt your head to the side slightly, not really sure what he means. To be honest, you don’t really care, so when he doesn’t seem to notice your confusion, it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“So, my lovely,” he says with a grin, changing the topic, “Got any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Well, I was planning on finishing my book, and probably would have if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m standing here right now,” you tell him, realizing that you’re going on another rant, “But apart from that, I don’t really know. I’ll probably eat my boredom away or something later,” you joke.

“That can’t be good for you, darling.”

You shrug in response. “I don’t really care.”

“You should,” he warns, “… _If you want to maintain that gorgeous body of yours_.”

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk forming on your lips. “Really?”

“If I’d said otherwise, I’d have been lying through my teeth.”

“ _Great_ ,” you laugh with a hand to your head, pulling the most over-dramatic pose you can muster, “I’ve been validated by a _robot_! My life is complete!”

He snorts. “I’ve never been given _that_ response before.”

“I’m a weird one.”

“You don’t say,” he chuckles. “So, what’s your name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he repeats it thoughtfully with a smile.

“As strange as it might sound, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“Really?” you ask, almost surprised, “It’s a pretty common name. Perhaps not in this area, but still…”

“It’s a nice name. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” you smile, a part of you wanting desperately to avoid eye contact. “But really, it’s not that great. Humans aren’t the most creative of races…”

“You say that, but as a race you produce amazing artwork and cartoons. I don’t know how you have the patience.”

“Says the guy who has 30 TV shows.”

At that, he laughs quietly. You make a mental note to ask him how he does that if you ever get a chance to speak to him again. “31, actually,” he stops to think for a second before grinning like a Cheshire cat, “And 28 movies- all of them being 4-hour long shots of my body being showered by rose petals, of course. But there’s _much more_ to me than just acting, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean..? _”_

“This body was built with _other things_ in mind,” he says, but the way he wiggles his hips on the ‘ _other things’_ tells you all you needed to know.

“ _Oh, for God’s sake_.”

He laughs again at your response, and gives you an innocent look. “What is it, _darling_?” he teases, “You should really get your mind out of the gutter.”

So it _was_ a sex joke, then. How nice. “Hey, I’m not the one punctuating every other sentence with an innuendo,” you remind him, the corners of your mouth curving up into a smile.

“Touché.”

“Anyways,” you start, suddenly starting to feel time conscious, “I don’t want to keep you for any longer. You’re probably really busy and you’ve probably got things to do and-“

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, his smirk back again. “I cleared this day so I could move in.”

“Oh. Right,” you say, awkwardly. “Of course.”

He shifts his weight to his other foot. “That being said, I probably should be going soon. I’ve got places to go, things to see, _people to do._ ”

He looks down at you for your reaction, and you just sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, _darling_. Did you mishear me again?” Dear God, his condescending tone sounds like a parent scolding a child. He clicks his tongue. “You’ve got one dirty little mind.”

“For someone who cares so much about family-friendly content, you’re sure as hell not family friendly off stage.”

“What can I say?” he shrugs, “I’m a great actor. Or just really immature. Take your pick.”

“You know what? I can’t argue with either of those,” you chuckle softly.

He stands up straight. “Well, sweetheart, I’d best be going now,” he says. You didn’t even realize he’d been leaning with one hand on your doorframe this whole time, and you wonder how it held his weight without collapsing. Side note: how heavy even _is_ he?

“Ok,” you smile, “See you around, then.”

“ _Toodles_ ~”

You feel confused; you feel like you’re supposed to hate him, and yet you don’t know why you don’t.

Huh… Well, shit.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later when you’re in a coffee shop, your favorite drink in your hands, you sit, aimlessly scrolling through your Tumblr dashboard, trying to occupy your bored mind. It kept you entertained for a while, but now it’s more of an excuse to go through as many memes as you possibly can before your drink goes cold.

You’re not one for details, but it’s a pretty nice coffee shop. The wallpaper is a pretty shade of lilac with white, silvery patterns that reminded you of a spider’s web covering the walls. It is both minimalistic, yet very effective, and matches the rest of the vintage décor on display around the room.

You take another sip of the warm liquid, not paying much attention to the world around you, when you see some of those ‘Recommended for You’ blogs that randomly appear on your dashboard. Oh boy, are these ones something, and you almost choke when you see one called ‘ _Mettaton’s Hot Legs’_.

 _Oh noes_. Your finger slips. Looks like you’re following it now.

Yeah, you’re going to have a lot of fun looking through that later.

“Hello, _darling_ ~”

You look up at the robot in front of you, putting your phone on the table. “Are you stalking me or something?” you laugh.

He sticks his tongue out. “Ha ha,” he says as he eyes your phone, “Reading?”

“You could say that,” you tell him with a slight blush as you realize you’ve left your phone on the ‘Hot Legs’ blog.

He doesn’t say anything, but raises an eyebrow suspiciously, and pulls out a chair to sit opposite you with a wide smirk spreading across his lips.

You raise your hands in surrender, “Hey, it’s Tumblr, not me.”

“You’re _following_ it.”

“My finger slipped.”

“Sure it did, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“So,” you say, trying to start a conversation, “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, hun?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. He’s almost at your height now, and you notice how his visible eye is made up of little LEDs, a part of you wondering how much energy it actually takes to power someone like him. He must get pretty large electricity bills with a form as detailed as his.

“Can you even eat?” you question, not intending for it to come out as bluntly as it did.

“No,” he replies, “Not yet.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but you nod anyway. “Oh…”

And then he smiles. “I came here to talk to you,” he states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and it makes you want to slap that slowly forming small smirk right off his face.

“So what you’re saying is that you _are_ stalking me,” you joke, taking another sip of your drink. Surprisingly, it’s still pretty warm, and you don’t want to put it back on the table so you can feel the heat against your hands for a little bit longer.

“ _You wish_ ,” he snorts, “But no. I saw you through the window.”

 “So, you just randomly look through coffee shop windows?”

“ _Actually_ ,” he begins, “An old friend of mine runs this bakery. When I last saw her, she only had a small stall open where she would sell her pastries to passers-by. It’s great to see how she’s built up her own business up on the surface.”

You nod, thoughtfully, humming slightly in response.

“We never had a chance to speak since. It’s a shame if you ask me, but we still had a nice conversation earlier.”

“Earlier?” you ask, almost taken aback, “How long have I been here?”

“Longer than you think, darling,” he says with a hint of a smirk on his face, “But I don’t blame you. Most people lose track of time when my legs are involved.” When you roll your eyes at him, he raises an eyebrow. “Speechless?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

He just laughs and shakes his head. “It’s getting late. You probably should be going, my lovely.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you joke, crossing your arms.

“You’ve been here for two and a half hours.”

“Good point,” you agree, but as you go to pick up your bag and drink, he stops you.

“I’m coming with you.”

You’re confused. “What do you mean?”

He smirks again. “We live in the same building, sweetheart. What’s the point in going alone?”

_Did… Did he just ask to walk you home?_

When your face becomes tinted with a more obvious shade of red, you aren’t blushing because you like him. You’re blushing because you’ve been put on the spot; you’re speechless. You have no witty comeback, you feel really awkward, and he _knows_ this. As the redness of your cheeks increases, he raises an eyebrow and puts a gloved hand on his hips.

“Stop blushing, darling. I _know_ I’m positively gorgeous, but you don’t need to get so flustered,” he teases.

“W-well,” you stutter, desperately trying to fill your own silence, “I can go by myself.”

The hand that’s not already on his hips makes its way to his chest. “Are you turning down some quality time with me? I am offended,” he says, his voice laced with mock insult. And _fuck_ , he’s doing that Cheshire cat smirk again. “Well, then. I guess I’ll just go on my own.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but the grin on his face gets even wider. “If you say so, _darling._ ”

You pick up your drink and bag for real this time as you swing its strap over your shoulder, and hold the warm drink close.

For some reason, you feel as if things are going to be a lot more different from now on.

 

And yet you’re looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh... If you've actually made it this far, then thank you. I've been really nervous about putting this online, so it means a lot. ; u ;
> 
> Anyways, howdy doody. Here have a 3k word first chapter mmm yup this wasn’t painful to write at all.  
> Oh boy, am I looking forward to all the Portal and/or Borderlands references I can cram into this fic. Also, I fold down pages of books to mark my place. Sue me. XD I think I'm just projecting my own personality onto Mettaton and it's probably unhealthy but heyyy.  
> I’m trying to make this a slow build, and failing miserably. Yay.
> 
> Also, I wanna write some smut for this, but I don't know. If that's something you wanna see, let me know.


	2. The robot that walks you home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support so far. I'm so glad you guys like it, and I was not expecting such a positive response. So, here. This was supposed to come out later, but I don't want to keep you waiting. Enjoy!

The faint tapping of high heels against the concrete beside you is slow and rhythmic, the steps wide and paced. It’s a little bit warmer than earlier, the sun above you indicating an early afternoon, and the cooling breeze is just enough to mess up your hair in that one particular way that slightly obscures your vision. You run your fingers through it, pushing it back for a second before the breeze returns, pushing it back over your eyes until you simply give up trying.

Earlier that day, you’d promised Mettaton you’d walk back with him after he noticed you at the coffee shop. You were hesitant at first, but after a little bit of persuasion, you’d caved in and said yes.

…You just didn’t anticipate him to walk as quickly as he’s walking now.

It’s not even like he’s doing it deliberately; it’s just that with legs like his, he travels a lot further than you do. For every step the robot takes, you have to take two just to stay by his side. You’re finding it hard to walk at a normal pace without him overtaking you.

“You know you can slow down, right?” you joke, as you try to keep up.

“Hmm?” It takes him a second to notice, but his expression falls when he realizes his mistake, and he soon slows down to your pace with an awkward smile, “Oh. Sorry, _darling_.”

You chuckle slightly. “No, it’s okay. I just have short legs.”

“I can carry you if you’d prefer.”

“I think I’d rather walk.”

He shrugs, a small smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

As you both carry on - this time without him running off - you notice how fluid his movements are. He walks without stumbling or tripping, and his visible eye is looking towards the scenery on his left: trees, bushes and the occasional bench. For a split second, you swear you see his chest rise and fall, but when you don’t catch it moving again, you think you were just seeing things.

“Take a picture, sweetheart,” he says, noticing you staring as he raises an eyebrow, “It’ll last longer.”

You laugh softly. “Sorry,” you apologize, “It’s just that I’ve never really had a chance to see you this close up before. You- you’re _really_ detailed...”

“Why thank you,” he chuckles playfully, doing a cocky bow, “But if you’re impressed, you should see the other things that the great Dr Alphys made besides my _amazing_ bodies.” He wiggles his hips on the ‘amazing’ and you roll your eyes, sighing.

_He really is immature, isn’t he?_

“I sure am, _darling_ ~” he laughs, and you quickly realize something.

“ _Shit_!” you exclaim, quickly bringing your hand to cover your mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Tsk tsk tsk!” he scolds, “Language!”

“Oh, _fuck you_.”

“Later, hun.”

You freeze and choke on your words, a strangled noise slipping through your lips.

“What’s wrong, my lovely?” he teases, not stopping to wait for you, “Cat got your tongue?”

You shake your head and continue walking, quicker this time to make up for those seconds where you were standing still. You still don’t make a sound. Apart from the sounds of the cars passing by, everything seems to have gone silent. You almost forget where you’re going.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” he muses, placing a hand on his hips.

“I’m just speechless, really,” you say, and even though there’s a small part of you that wants to say otherwise, it’s the truth.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he smirks, “Most people are.”

 _Of course_. “Mettaton, I swear I will fucking slap you,” you laugh. This robot is certainly something.

“So you want to fuck me, _and_ slap me?” he snorts, “I was certainly not aware of _this_ side of you, sweetheart.”

You slip a hand out of your pocket to hit him gently, but you forget that he’s made of metal and a sharp pain rushes down your fingers. Your hand reflexively flinches back as you wince in pain, shaking it like a dog shakes itself dry.

Both of you stop walking. “What part of you thought that was a good idea?” he chuckles, not seeming to have been affected by the hit.

“Shut up.”

“Give it here,” he says, but when you refuse, holding it close to you, he rolls his eye. “ _Oh yes,_ darling _, I’m going to snap your wrist_ ,” he mocks with a smirk. “Just let me look at it!”

You don’t want to, but you _do_ want him to leave you alone. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, still burning with the pain of impacting solid metal. His hand fits into yours, and it’s pleasantly cool. There’s something slightly calming about the way it vibrates almost unnoticeably, the gentle hum of the fans from inside his chassis soothing the once annoyingly painful injury.

He looks at it closely and brings it up to his face, delicately caressing it with a thumb. It hurts.

“You’ve just bruised it,” he states, “It should be fine in soon, my lovely.”

_That’s good._

“...But maybe you should hold my hand for a little bit longer.” You raise an eyebrow, and he adds with a grin, “ _Just to be sure._ ”

“Well,” you shrug with a wide smile, not too keen on letting go, “If you say so.”

He grips tighter- not too tight to hurt it, and the two of you begin walking side by side. You can feel the individual joints that connect his fingers shifting as moves his hand to better fit in yours. After a few seconds, you feel the metal adjust to your body temperature, no longer feeling the cool of his hand against your own.

You try to match his pace as he walks, looking down towards his heels that tap rhythmically against the ground. They’re a bright pink, about 3 inches high, and you wonder how he walks in those things without falling over.

He squeezes your hand slightly to get your attention. When your eyes flick back up, he’s looking at you inquisitively with a cocky grin. “Is this your way of telling me that my shoes are more interesting than my face?”

You roll your eyes, and he holds a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Very funny,” you say, before turning your head to face the scenery in front of you.

The apartment complex slowly comes into view after another few minutes of thoughtful silence. You wait to see if Mettaton will say anything. When he doesn’t, you just continue your train of thought as he turns to press a button at some nearby traffic lights, humming just loud enough for you to hear. The tune itself is very familiar, and you remember the original song being upbeat and lively- almost flamboyant- despite his voice being rich and smooth.

Perhaps you should listen to a song of his later. He’s not that bad of a singer, after all.

The cars slow down to a stop at last, and as he leads you across almost protectively, you decide now is a good time as any to ask about the tune. “What song is that?”

He looks down and eyes you with another one of his signature smirks. “My, _darling_ ~” He raises his eyebrow. “How could you not know?”

You genuinely don’t know what he’s talking about. “Umm…?”

“I’m not telling,” he teases, pretending to be offended. “You should know it.”

You shrug it off, and turn the corner. The feeling of people staring at you as you approach the building is beginning to make you uncomfortable, but nonetheless, you continue walking in hope that Mettaton won’t notice how awkward you suddenly feel.

As the two of you pace down the road, you lose yourself in the sound of his voice. His humming sounds incredibly human, the autotuned undertones in his voice rising and falling with the tune of the song. It sounds so beautiful, and if you could, you’d listen to him for hours. Now you know why he’s so popular, at least.

The building is straight ahead, looming over you like a giant. He leads you towards the door and pulls it open, letting go of your hand momentarily to do so, allowing you to notice how empty it suddenly feels without him holding it. With his back against the door, he bows slightly, gesturing for you to enter. You don’t even think before your empty hand rushes up to cover your mouth, stopping the sudden laughter from escaping your lips.

“Why thank you,” you chuckle, although it’s almost inaudible through your hand. You take a step through the door, and he lets it close behind you, walking back to your side to slip his hand into yours.

The room is small and stuffy. The walls are bare save from a couple random framed photos on a small shelf right ahead, and apart from the elevator to your left and some stairs next to it, there’s nothing else that grabs your attention. You make your way to the elevator, the wooden floor amplifying the sounds of your shoes against the floor. Mettaton reaches it before you, however, and reaches out to press the button. You’re too slow to react, and your free hand accidentally collides with his.

“O-oh…” you mumble, looking up at him again. “Sorry…”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said in a while, my lovely,” he observes with a slight squint as if he’s skeptical about your silence, “And based on our previous conversations I didn’t think you were the ‘shy’ type.”

The elevator dings and the doors slowly slide open to reveal its rather small interior. “I’m not,” you say, stepping inside.

“I know,” he smirks, pressing the button for your floor, “And that’s why I’m commenting on your being quiet.” There’s a mirror in front of you, and he sticks his tongue out so you can see it.

You snort. “Fuck you.”

“You said that earlier, _darling_ ~” he chides, “Swearing is a sign of low intelligence.”

“And being immature isn’t?”

The grin on his face gets wider. “Not that I’m aware of.”

You turn away from the mirror to lean on it and instinctively cross your arms. When you suddenly realize you let go of his hand, you instantly feel bad, and a large part of you misses the metal pressed against your palm.

“How is it?”

“Huh?”

“Your hand,” he adds, nodding slightly in its direction. “How’s your hand?”

“A lot better now,” you reply. “Thank you.”

With a small ding, the doors part once again. The hallway is air conditioned and he follows you as you take a step out of the elevator with your hands slipping back into your pockets. Another couple steps and you’re right outside your door.

You casually spin on your heel to face him. “So,” you start, “Guess I’ll see you around then.”

He smiles with a slight nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

There’s a brief pause where you fumble in your pockets for your key, but when you find them, you pull them out of your pocket as the keychains clink around. A few of them catch the light while you jam it into the keyhole, wiggling it around carelessly, almost as if you’re in a hurry, and pull on the handle to open the door. It does so silently, and right before you stride inside, you turn around to face him and give him a wave.

He returns the gesture with another soft ‘ _toodles_ ’ and a smile.

“Oh, and just out of curiosity, what song were you humming earlier? I might look it up.”

His smile shifts into a smirk once again. “That would be my theme song.”

* * *

 

The next day, you’d been productive and got everything done that you needed to, so you decided to sit inside for a bit. After all, you’d actually got some work done for once in your life, so it was essentially a small reward for yourself as a little ‘congrats’ for not being lazy.

Once you’d settled down on your sofa, you turned on your TV to see what was on, snuggling into the soft fabric as you curled up into the pleasant warmth. When you first turned it on, there were just ads, so you pulled out your phone to occupy yourself until the actual show started. Scrolling through your dashboard, you noticed that Tumblr seemed pretty active, and that ‘Hot Legs’ blog was actually interesting. Well, it’s just an abundance of screenshots of his legs from various angles, but then again, it’s called ‘Mettaton’s Hot Legs’. What were you expecting?

The TV show eventually starts, opening on a scene of a tall building. You hear a familiar autotuned voice, freezing as soon as you realize it’s one of Mettaton’s first sitcoms up on the surface. You lift up your phone again to type in the name of it on Google and hit enter. A second goes by, then a Wiki article pops up with the date and rating, your eyes skimming over the details; according to the search results, it’s over a year old, and features some other well-known names. Albeit, none of them really catch your eye, but nonetheless, it doesn’t look all that bad, and the reviews are pretty good.

You begin to worm even further into the sofa, but a thought- no, an _idea_ \- pops into your head, seemingly out of nowhere, and you stop. You pause the program without hesitating and heave out of the chair, a part of you missing its warmth, and proceed to walk over to the door that leads outside your apartment, opening it quickly and grabbing the keys on your way out. With a single step, you’re in the hall, the door shut behind you as you make your way down to the last room in the hallway: Mettaton’s apartment.

It takes a minute after you knock on his door before he opens it, and you wonder if you’ve come at a bad time. Perhaps you should have thought this through before randomly knocking on his door at midday. You don’t know what he could be doing; he’s probably too busy for this.

When the door finally parts, you catch a slight look of surprise on his face before it shifts back to his normal expression. You can tell he wasn’t expecting you, and your visit must have caught him off guard for one reason or another.

“Hello, _darling_ ~”

“Hi,” you start, resisting the urge to start rambling. “Are you… Doing anything right now?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Nice. Great. Sarcasm,” you comment, “Yeah, I uh…” _Oh God… What if he doesn’t have time? What if he’s busy?_ You trail off before you start to choke on your words, leaving the sentence unfinished as you look around idly in an attempt to avoid eye contact.

He raises his eyebrow suspiciously, placing a hand on his hips. It’s almost as if he’s enjoying seeing you like this. “Go on,” he urges.

“Umm…”

He doesn’t look annoyed though. He’s encouraging you to finish. “What is it, my lovely?”

“Look,” you start, “I know you’re probably really busy and have way better things to do than this so I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I found an old show of yours and I was just wondering if… You know…”

He waits for you to finish, looking at you patiently. When you finally muster up the strength to ask him, your eyes meet again, and you can tell that he wants to hear what you have to ask.

“Do you… Want to maybe watch it with me?”

“Yes.”

“Wait- _what_?”

He smirks again. “I said ‘yes’ my lovely.”

“Well, I heard that, but I just wasn’t expecting you to say you would or anything.” You’re not going to lie, you would have been happy if he did so much as _consider_ the idea.

“Then why did you ask?” he grins.

“Because I _hoped_ you’d say yes, and that’s got to count for something.” He chuckles, disappearing behind his door for a few seconds before stepping out and locking it behind him. When you feel his hand slide into yours, you don’t try and pull it away. Rather, you hold on as tightly as you can.

 

* * *

 

 

You can feel his warmth beside you as the two of you sit together on your sofa. He’s _right_ next to you, and the slight vibrations from his fans feel nice against your side. Before you know it, you find yourself leaning in closer without having any input on your body doing so.

You’ve long since forgotten to make satirical comments on what’s going on in the show, and Mettaton’s long since forgotten to laugh at them. Now the two of you are deep in thought, not paying attention to the show anymore. You’d stopped watching ages ago. He doesn’t seem to care, either.

His arm worms its way around you without you noticing, and you automatically snuggle in, eyes glazing over the screen. With the one ear against him, you can _hear_ his fans. It’s actually pretty comforting, and feels so calming. You could fall asleep to this.

“Hey, _darling?_ ”

You sit up slightly, turning to face him. His visible eye is still fixed on the screen, but you can tell he’s not actually watching it. “Hmm?”

“Are you still watching this?” he asks, looking at you with a slight smile.

“No, not really,” you chuckle, “’ _Fetus You_ ’ wasn’t as great as I thought he would be.”

At this, he laughs. “What’s wrong with ‘ _Fetus Me_ ’?”

You shrug in response.

“Anyways,” he starts, “Want to watch something else?”

“Umm…” You think for a second before continuing, “I have some video games, if you want to play?”

This seems to spark his interest. “Like what?”

“Rocket League, Portal 2, Tales from the Borderlands and uhh… Mario Kart 8. They’re the only good ones, anyway.”

“Rocket League is the car football one, right?”

“ _’Car football’_?” you scoff, “’Car football’? I’ll have you know it’s also the finest of car basketball after that new update.”

He laughs again, putting a hand to his mouth to try and conceal it. You don’t know why; it doesn’t do anything to muffle the secondary speakers on his chest. “Fine then. That one.”

“Sure thing.”

You turn on the console, and after a few minutes of setting up Mettaton’s profile, you load up the game. The speakers emit the familiar intro music, and you toss him a controller.

“The controls are simple. Right trigger is forwards, left trigger is back,” you explain, “Mash the other buttons randomly and you’ll figure the rest out.”

“Wait,” he says, eyeing your vehicle on the screen, “How do you change your car?”

You sigh, bringing up the customization menu and walking him through it. He ends up choosing a purple car with pink accents for the blue team, and a pink car with black accents for the orange. After spending too much time assessing which wheels would suit his car best, he picks a default pink trail, commenting on how ‘ _it doesn’t match the exact shade of pink on his car, but will have to do for now’_.

“Okay, so you see the cake topper?” you ask, as soon as he finally reaches that option.

“Yeah?” He selects it, and it sits neatly on top of his car.

“That’s from Portal,” you say, “You know, that other game I mentioned earlier? It’s part of the whole ‘cake is a lie’ meme that was pretty big when the game came out.”

“’ _The cake is a lie_ ’?”

You shake your head with mock disapproval. “You have much to learn, my friend.”

He tells you he’s finished selecting his car, and you start setting up a 1v1 game until he suddenly interrupts you.

“No,” he complains, “Not 1-on-1. I’ve never played this before. At least put it on 2 against 2.”

You sigh, but do so nonetheless. Two seconds later and you’ve both picked opposite teams; you’re on blue and Mettaton’s on orange. The game starts counting down, and as soon as it starts, you’re boosting forwards and scoring a goal.

“What?” he hollers, “Not fair. You’re too good at this.”

“Thanks,” you snort.

The game counts down again, and by the time it’s started, you’ve already scored another goal.

“No. I haven’t even had a chance yet!”

You can tell he’s frustrated, so you make a deal. “Right. I’ll go easy on you,” you promise. “And if you’re still struggling at the 2:30 mark, I’ll let you join my team, okay?”

“Deal,” he replies, a smirk making its way onto his lips once again.

So for the next two minutes and twenty-eight seconds, you don’t score anything; you spend the time giving him tips and pointers, but he still can’t score a goal. For a beginner, though, he’s not that bad, but according to him, he’s still struggling.

Just when he thinks you’ve forgotten about your little promise earlier, he makes you pause the game. “Now now, _darling_. If my memory serves me correctly, _which it does_ , you promised to let me join your team.”

“You still want to be in my team?”

“Of course.”

You take his controller off him and open up the menu. With a few button presses he’s in your team, and not long after, he’s off scoring goals left and right.

“You- you can play?” you stutter, taken aback by his newfound skill.

He laughs, scoring another goal. “Oh darling, aren’t you gullible.”

You look at him, wide-eyed, and his expression is one of pure concentration. His eye flicks down for a second, and when he sees your face, he grins even wider.

“What?” he smirks, “Did you really think I’d never played this before?”

“Wait- what?”

You look up. He winks with a smile, placing a single finger over his lips, and you find yourself not wanting to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Don’t mind me just subjecting you to my crappy taste in games. PS4 beats Xbox because my Xbox 360 literally ate itself to death. As in it ate itself… To death…  
> Headcannon of the day: I think Mettaton’s concerts would be like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gzve2hpLeqc
> 
> Yes, that’s a hologram, by the way. If you can’t be bothered to watch it all, watch from 0:40-1:25 at least. That’s the best part.
> 
> Also, I need your ideas for future chapters, so if you have a cute (or maybe fluffy) request, feel free to comment it. I can't guarantee I'll use it, but I've been lacking inspiration recently. I know where the fic is going to go in terms of the major plot, but I'm trying to make this realistic, so I need some slow build fluff. :3
> 
> I know this note is already pretty long, but there won't be any updates for about two weeks (unless I can finish the next chapter in the next few days). I'll explain that later, though.
> 
> If you want to pester me about chapter updates, do so on my Twitter (@ThoseRedLights) where I post useless stuff. :p


	3. The robot who asked you to lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hOLY FUCK IT'S ALMOST BEEN A YEAR I'M SO SORRY
> 
> if some parts feel rushed blame my 3am-self because chances are that i was high on sleep deprivation again
> 
> funnily enough this has the exact same word count as last chapter but hey i'm not complaining

The two of you need to stop knocking on each other’s doors whenever you want to talk and just exchange phone numbers already, because Mettaton is standing in the doorway again, opposite you, with another one of his signature smirks.

Hung upon his chassis is a chunky grey sweater, a cartoon pink bow printed on the front. It’s slightly too big for him, not that he seems to care, but it looks comfortable despite it being rather warm outside. His shorts are the same shade of pink as the bow, slightly frayed at the edges, and are ripped a bit along the sides. When you finally seem to make eye contact, he raises an eyebrow as his lips widen in amusement.

“My, my,” he teases. “You’re awfully quiet. Forgotten how to talk, my lovely? Or are you _enjoying the view?”_

You find yourself mumbling a quiet ‘ _not this again_ ’ as you silently beg him to stop posing dramatically in the hallway.

He gives you a small smirk, and you don’t appreciate the way he seems to feed off your exasperated reactions whenever he says something mildly suggestive. Nonetheless, you decide to actually say something rather than continue staring, as neither of you seem to be used to being this quiet for long periods of time.

“This really isn’t the most efficient method of communication.”

“Stop trying to take the fun out of everything _, darling_.” He presses a hand against his chest with a wink, chuckling to himself. “Humans can be so _boring_ sometimes,” he says thoughtfully.

“Look, you can’t complain about something being boring until you watch your own shows back.”

He laughs softly and shakes his head while you awkwardly look around. Hey, at least you didn’t offend him. You’ve heard rumors going around that he still owns the working chainsaw used in some of his old shows, and as much as you doubt that he does, you’d rather not find out the hard way.

“So,” he starts, leaning against your doorframe absentmindedly, “How are things?”

“What? In general, or...?”

His usual smirk fades before shifting into a softer, more sincere smile. “Take it however you want, sweetheart. Just talk to me.”

“Oh, uh… I don’t know,” you force out. “Things are okay, I guess."

“By your definition of the word, or mine?”

He _really_ likes asking questions today.

“What else do you want from me?” you laugh, not sure whether it’s out of self-consciousness or to put an end to the growing silence between your sentences. “If you’re expecting a three page essay then you’ve come to the wrong place. I’ll give you a call the moment my life becomes exciting, but for the time being I’ve been living off _bagels_ for the past two days, and my social life isn’t so much _lacking_ as it is _nonexistent_.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that, because as much as you try to laugh it off, he looks more concerned than anything else. With a sigh, he adjusts himself so he’s standing up straight again, shifting his weight off the doorframe and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“While I may not know that much about humans, I am certain that can’t be good for anybody.” He smiles, and you hate how obvious it is that you’re trying to avoid eye contact. “So, let’s try and change that.”

“Wh-”

“Planning on doing anything later?”

“I was just going to finish my book,” you say, quieter than usual. “So I guess the answer is no, not really. Why?”

“I came here in the first place to ask if you wanted to get lunch,” he says, “The offer still stands, but considering the circumstances I’d be much happier knowing you had a break from everything.”

The sincerity in his voice takes you by surprise, and you find yourself warming to the idea. After all, you _could_ use a change of scenery, and you enjoy his company no matter how much you try to deny it. You smile. “That sounds really nice. Thank you.”

He practically beams. “No problem, darling. I’ll be here in an hour if that’s alright.” You nod, hoping that you don’t look as excited as you feel. You’re not even sure why you feel like that. It’s just a one-off, you know it is, but for some reason the idea makes you really… well, _happy_.

He winks. “See you later.”

You watch him take a single step back out of the doorframe and turn around as he looks at you over his shoulder. He gives you a quiet ‘ _toodles_ ’ as you shut the door behind him, the little click as the door locks shuts startling you out of your thoughts. It’s a weird feeling, to think about what just happened, but you just lean against the back of the door wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

And to be honest, you have no clue.

 

* * *

  

The hour seems to go a bit too slowly for your liking, but when you hear him knock at the door you put your book down and spring to your feet immediately.

You’re not exactly used to seeing the same person wear two different outfits in one day, so when you’re greeted by Mettaton in _another_ fucking pink sweater and _another_ fucking pair of shorts, you’re not sure what to make of the situation. He’s a robot, for God’s sake. You’d think wearing thick clothing when it’s warm would just make him overheat.

“Did you miss me?”

You want to say no. You _really_ want to say no. But instead, you find a somewhat strangled ‘yes’ making its way through your lips without your consent.

He laughs. “ _Well_ , darling, I suppose we ought to do something about that.”

“So where are we going?” you ask, stepping out of the door and locking it behind you.

“ _You’ll see_.”

You gesture awkwardly down the hall. “Lead the way, I guess.”

He laughs softly and spins on his heel with what you swear was a little bow. “As you wish, _my lovely_.”

After an unnervingly quiet elevator ride, you follow Mettaton out the building and along a route that he insists he’s been down before. It’s a small pathway off the main street that you’d never really got the chance to walk through, but it looks really pretty with trees running along one side and a lake along the other.

“So where _are_ we going?” you ask.

“I already told you, darling! You’ll have to wait and see. I promise you’ll like it, though.”

“You’re _that_ certain?”

He smiles down at you. “What can I say? I think I know you pretty well already.”

Mettaton starts absentmindedly rambling on about his time in the Underground, and how he was asked to play along with Alphys in order to make Alphys feel like a part of the story or something- you don’t really know. You’re barely listening, but you definitely heard him say something about a chainsaw at some point and you’re not too sure how to feel about that. Either way, you can’t help but notice how empty the path is in comparison to the main streets in your city. There are no roads, no shops, and very few people, and you suppose it might be nice for him to walk somewhere without a crowd following him for once.

You’re reaching the end of the path when you notice a set of glass double-doors in front of you. On each side are large plant pots, and a red carpet runs directly down the middle and into the blue building.

And then you notice the letters _‘MTT’_ above the doors. He’s taken you to his own bloody resort.

“Oh for God’s sake,” you sigh, pausing on the spot. “You are actually the most _pretentious_ person in the world. You know that, right?”

He looks down at you and starts to laugh, trying to cover it with his hand. It started off as a small chuckle, but as much as he’s trying to he can’t seem to hide the fact that the rest of his body is almost shaking. “Darling _please,_ what else were you expecting?”

You notice how he tries to compose himself, and you find yourself chuckling, too. “I… I don’t know! Seriously, I would have been happy with a Mc Donald’s or whatever.”

“Are you suggesting you’d rather go there instead?”

“Oh God, no. I’m not complaining.”

He smirks as he holds the door for you. “I knew you’d like it.”

You’d never seen this place before, so when you step inside you’re surprised to see a mini-fountain of his box form right in the middle of the room. There’s another red carpet running down the middle of the room, and the walls are a bright creamy-yellow color. Overall, it’s actually quite big on the inside, with a big mix of both monsters _and_ humans going about their business.

“Well, darling?” he gestures around the room. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” is all you can bring yourself to say.

“I wanted it to be as similar to the one in the Underground as possible- _for nostalgia’s sake_ \- but of course, that proved to be quite challenging. Hardy any of the original staff still work here, but I still like to think I did a good job of recreating it.” He turns left into a bigger room (which you presume to be a restaurant), winking at the monster working the reception desk. You follow closely behind him as he sits down at one of the many tables, and you take the seat opposite him, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of lighting in the purple room.

“It’s uh… _Dark_ ,” you comment.

He chuckles behind his hand. “I was going for _dramatic-_ maybe _bold,_ ” he states, but he cuts you off before you can say anything else, _“_ Of course, ‘ _dark_ ’ works, too.”

You just give an awkward laugh. He leans forward slightly. “So. What can I get you to drink?”

“Just some water, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, darling,” he says, calling over a monster waiter and reciting your order to them. They scuttle off, bringing you back a glass with some ice and a bottle of water on a tray that they proceed to place on the table, pouring some water into the glass.

“This place is really nice,” you start, as the monster hands you the drink, “And it’s your resort?”

“The one and only,” he smirks, “Well, up on the surface, anyway.”

You take a sip from the glass. “It’s an exact replica?”

“Not quite. My resort in the Underground was a bit…” he presses his lips together. “ _Extra_. Even for me. Looking back on it now, I shouldn’t have put lamps shaped after my box form in each room. You know, the whole idea was that you wouldn’t be able to turn them on because ‘ _stars make their own light_ ,’ or something like that.”

You shrug. “Must have been pretty _dark times,_ ” you joke. He winces. “Anyway, as pretentious as it is, I can’t fault the metaphor.”

“Right you are, darling.” He shakes his head, laughing slightly.

You keep your hand wrapped tightly around the glass, but instead of drinking it, you slide it closer towards you. It feels wet, and as your face seems to grow hotter by the second, it’s the only thing stopping you from melting into a mess in front of the robot.

“Hey, Mettaton?”

He smiles with a small chuckle. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“…I-is this a date?”

He chews on his lip, thinking about it for a second. There it is. You’ve made him uncomfortable. He’s just doing this to be nice. Why would he date you? Do you want him to date you? Fuck, you’re not even _sure_ anymore.

“Do you _want_ it to be a date?”

 _What kind of a question is that?_ “Of course I do.”

You’ll admit, you enjoy his company a lot more now than you did when you first met him. But now, he probably hates you more than you hated him. And you _like_ him, as weird as it seems to think that. Sometimes it just feels nice to absentmindedly imagine what his stupid noodly arms would feel like when they’re wrapped around your body as he holds you tight on the sofa, or what he might look like at night under a blanket beside you when neither of you can get to sleep.

But you’ve missed your chance. If he say no, _then what_? You’re pretty sure your face is red the next time your eyes meet, so you almost reluctantly take another sip of your drink, trying to hide it.

“What’s wrong, darling?” His facial expression shifts as he leans across and stretches an arm over to your shoulder. “You’re spacing out. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you force out. “I’m sorry, it just slipped out. If I’ve messed everything up, then I-”

He’s laughing. “Of course you haven’t messed anything up, darling. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, especially not on our first date.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

As it turns out, Mettaton’s resort serves some surprisingly nice stuff. Once you’d enjoyed your food, you made your way back to your apartment, walking by his side with your hand in his. You’d both stayed relatively quiet, too, aside from the occasional joke or spontaneous comment. Not that either of you particularly minded, though. Eventually, you found yourself in your apartment where you’d turned on your TV to his channel and sat side by side on your sofa.

You had ended up losing yourself, episode after episode by his side. Hours had passed, and you weren’t even sure what time it was when you started to feel the effects of staying up on your consciousness. Now, it’s so late that your body’s beginning to fall asleep all by itself.

There’s a slight glint in his eye as he pulls an arm around you, placing the remote down as you lean into him without even realizing. He smiles as you go to pause the program, and watches you tilt your head up towards him with a slight joyful look in your eyes.

His warmth is inviting, and you notice that when you snuggle up to him, you can hear the sound of his fans growing louder. In your opinion, it’s kind of cute, so you nestle into him further, wanting to melt into his comfortable embrace even deeper than before. It’s so nice, and a part of you could get used to sleeping like this, safe in his arms.

He places his hand so it rests comfortably on your thigh. “Hey darling?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you still watching?” he questions. You feel his grip tighten slightly, and without even realizing, you close your eyes, resting your head on his chest.

You nod as you notice how you’re beginning to slip in and out of consciousness, but it feels so pleasant that you don’t really care. His body feels so nice, and you feel so tired. You’ve lost track of how many shows you’ve watched, and now it’s so late that you want to just fall asleep like this.

“My,” he says, his voice a lot softer when he sees you starting to doze off, “Someone’s tired.”

He must have turned the TV off because you can no longer feel its light on your eyelids when you feel the pressure of his arms around your back. “What are you doing?” you mumble.

He chuckles but, doesn’t say anything, and you can feel your head against his chest once again as he lifts you up bridal style and starts to carry you. With each step he takes, you can feel his grip on you tighten ever so slightly, but it’s not uncomfortable.

You must have left your bedroom door open, because you feel him lay you down on your bed without hearing the door open beforehand. It feels so nice, and you’re so close to falling asleep.

“You can stay the night, if you want,” you murmur, “I mean, you don’t have to, but...”

He leans down to tuck you in. “If it’s alright with you, my lovely,” a pause, “Would I be able to plug myself in?”

You nod, and he gives you a small ‘thanks’ in return. “Do you want to sleep here, or on the sofa?” you ask, still drowsy, opening your eyes as you start to make room for him on your bed, “There’s a plug on the wall right next to me, or one by the TV if you prefer.”

“Darling, I’m fine,” he insists, “I don’t need to sleep on a bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Look, I’m not going to let that happen, so either the two of us sleep here, you sleep on the sofa, or you take the bed and _I’ll_ sleep on the floor.”

Right before he tries to refuse, you cut him off. “I can be pretty stubborn, you know.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I am.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor.”

 “Then you’re gonna have to sleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

You cheer internally when you see he’s given up trying to resist, and it’s followed by a brief moment of silence where he walks over to his bag and pulls out a rather large plug from the front pocket. “Fine,” he smiles, “If you really insist, darling. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“’Night Mettaton.”

He pauses right at the doorway and looks over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darling.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he’s still on your sofa when you wake up, so you slip into a new change of clothes and try not to accidentally wake him up while you grab a glass of water. He’s curled up slightly, leaving enough room for you to sit down next to him, and his fans are still humming slightly as he lays there.

He’s still asleep. You try not to disturb him too much, taking out your phone and opening up Twitter. While there’s nothing particularly exciting about idly scroll through your timeline, it’s a good way to kill time, and you might as well follow him while you’re at it.

Sitting near Mettaton is strangely comforting, and you don’t want to deny it. Instead, you just lean into the seat a bit more, waiting for him to wake up.

After a while, his fans start to grow louder, and his eye flickers open a few times before he looks up at you, blinking. He almost looks confused for a second, but he smiles at you, and positions himself so that he’s sitting up straight.

“Good morning darling,” he purrs softly, his voice a bit quieter than usual. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early.”

“Neither was I, to be honest,” you confess, feeling a metal arm wrapping around you. It’s cold, but in a nice way, and you let yourself lean into him.

“What time is it?”

You check your phone, yawning. “…Almost 8 o’clock.”

He tilts his head back slightly, sighing. “I’ll have to head over to Alphys’ in a bit, dearie.”

“Why?”

“A routine checkup,” he explains, noticing your slightly startled expression. “It’s nothing to be worried about, darling. I’m fine, I promise.”

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle, “You had scared me for a second.”

He smiles softly, reaching a hand out. “Here, hand me your phone.” You’re not exactly sure why he wants it, but you unlock it for him anyway and hand it over. When you get it back, you see he’s added himself as a contact and he lifts up his phone to show that he has your number, too.

“There. I’ll text you once I’m out, okay?” he promises.

You nod.

As he tries to stand up, he stumbles, and you instinctively reach out to try and steady him. Luckily, he grabs the arm of the sofa just in time using it as something to lean on as he steadies himself and stands upright. “Sorry about that, sweetheart. I tend to get a bit… shake-y after staying in one position for a while. That being said, I _am_ quite heavy, so in the interest of both of our safeties you might not want to do that again.”

You force out an awkward smile. He grins.

“Just some advice. I know I can be a bit paranoid sometimes. You can’t blame me for not wanting you to get hurt.”

He fixes his hair in front of a mirror, folding out the wrinkles in his sweater from where he was sleeping on the sofa. In a swift motion, he scoops the bag off the floor and onto his shoulder, turning to look at you in the process. “How do I look?”

“What? Why are you asking me? You were literally just staring into a mirror for five minutes straight.”

“Very funny,” he deadpans, shifting his weight over to his other leg. “But sometimes it’s nice to be told that you’re absolutely beautiful, even if you already know you are.”

“Oh. Well _I_ think you are beautiful, anyway.”

He can’t get rid of the grin on his face. “Thank you, darling,” he chuckles, pulling his phone out and checking the time. “Though I really should be going now. Alphys will be worried if I’m not there soon.”

“Sure you can’t stay longer?” He pouts, and you laugh, “I’m just kidding. If you have to go, I’m not going to stop you. Thank you for everything yesterday.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams, making his way towards the door.

You open it for him, stepping to the side with a little bow as you do so. His little chuckle is contagious, and it’s not long before you find yourself smiling, too. “See you later, Mettaton.”

“Goodbye, darling!”

He winks, gives a small wave, and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took a bloody year. Uh, my bad.  
> Well, things happened. Long story short: netbook problems. Lots of them. Netbook is still getting fixed as we speak, but I recently got a spare so I guess that’s good.
> 
> HUGE thanks to my friends for helping me come up with parts of the plot for this chapter, for proofreading it, and for putting up with me updating the file on Google Docs at 2am and asking for feedback. You guys know who you are, and you're awesome. I even have an entire copy of this chapter in which a friend went ahead and wrote in her own commentary/edits in green, then put everything in italics just to tick me off. Also while I was at it edited a couple parts from previous chapters, just to let you know. Nothing big, just one or two rewordings because I hate how they sound now.
> 
> Anyways this was supposed to stay like a platonic friendship for another chapter but fuck it time to get rid of the fucking slow build tag huehuehue


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